


Per Angusta ad Augusta

by MidLifeLez



Series: Per Angusta ad Augusta [1]
Category: Holby City
Genre: Alternate Universe - School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:48:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidLifeLez/pseuds/MidLifeLez
Summary: Dr Serena Campbell is the Head of Science at St Winifred's girls' school. Bernie Wolfe is here to instil some disorder.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MoonlitCastle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitCastle/gifts).



The St. Winifred School for Girls had a fearsome reputation that went beyond the county, and that suited Serena Campbell very nicely. She loved the sight of backs straightening at the sound of her heels striking the floor as she swept into the hall for assembly each morning to join the rest of the staff in their academic gowns. She thrilled at the sight of overawed Year Sevens arriving in September, socks pulled up to their knees and rucksacks secured on both shoulders as they crossed the threshold of the school grounds for the first time. She still felt a tug in her chest when alumnae spotted her years later, able to recall every word of the school song despite their insistence at the end of their A-levels that they couldn’t wait to go out into the real world and throw off the rules and regulations of St Winnies. The Head of Science had been here for 23 years, had seen her own daughter through the unrivalled education offered within these walls, and nothing could shake her certainty that it was where she would spend the rest of her working days.

Nothing, that is, until the arrival of the new Pastoral Care Officer.

Dr Campbell didn’t see why there was a need for a dedicated pastoral role when the school had been doing perfectly well without for the past 132 years, and was even less convinced that whatever simpering hand-wringer turned up to furnish the girls with tampons and excuses was so much in need of her own office that the wood-panelled room looking out over the school fields, the one with ‘S. Campbell PhD: Head of Science’ on the door, the one she had made her own since taking over from Jock Scanlon 12 years ago, needed to be struck in half by a ghastly stud wall.

“She’ll be some scrawny, snivelling old hippy with a tissue tucked up her sleeve, you mark my words,” she was telling Alice Doyle (maths) on the morning that the new recruit was due to start. “Don’t laugh – it’s not just the girls she’ll be nosing into the business of.” Serena took a sip of her coffee, grimaced, and punched in a couple of sweeteners. “Before you know it the staff room will be full of _are you getting enough vitamin B?_ and _have you thought about meditation?_ ” Serena voiced the newcomer with an irritatingly high-pitched whine. Ms Doyle tittered briefly before clearing her throat and taking a profound interest in the latest issue of the Times Educational Supplement that was sitting on her knee.

Serena knew that move and scrolled through the list of likely scenarios before spinning on her heel ready to charm one of the governors… only to find herself confronted by a tall blonde stood with one hand stuffed into the pocket of her unfathomably tight black jeans. The other she extended in Serena’s direction as she cocked her head slightly. “Bernie Wolfe,” she said, apparently amused at Serena’s attempt to recast her features, blinking furiously as she took the proffered hand. “Your new Pastoral Care Officer,” she added, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “And, I believe, your new neighbour.” Serena pressed her lips together into what she hoped was a convincing smile; her brain was working overtime. _Hair… very blonde, nice, good hair – bad hair?… legs, yes, two of those, long, very long…_ and, worst of all… _denim? At St. Winifred’s? Oh NO._

\--

“It’s not too much further, Ms Wolfe,” Serena said, speaking over her shoulder - and only really in an effort to chivvy the new arrival along. Bernie was in no mind to hurry, though, strolling along the corridors as if she was on National Trust property, as if the student work and trophies lining the walls were actually ancient portraits and jewels with lengthy commentaries that needed reading. She was genuinely interested in learning more about the various competitions that ran each year, but largely she was interested in forcing her tour guide to slow down; it seemed as if it would annoy her quite wonderfully.

Eventually she rounded a corner and almost walked straight in to Dr Campbell, who was stood trying to look anything other than impatient outside of what was now the doorway that led to both of their offices.

“Ah, here we are,” Serena said, stepping through and gesturing towards the door on the right, with its freshly fitted name plaque. Bernie lifted her eyebrows in surprise – she’d never had her name on a door before – and turned the handle to see what sort of space she’d been given. The room was brightly lit thanks to two huge windows, beneath which sat a desk; the length of the far wall was covered in bookshelves (half-filled already, with Bernie had no idea what), and tucked behind the door were comfy seats around a coffee table bearing a box of tissues. It lacked a bit of character (although the desk looked old enough to have a few stories to tell) but it had potential; she moved towards a blank stretch of wall to the right of the windows and tried to size it up for a poster, a hand on her chin.  

“I’m sorry if--” Bernie jumped, having assumed that Dr Campbell had gone into her own office, laughing quietly as she turned around to find her stood in the doorway. Serena smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to, uh… it’s just, um, we’ve not had someone like you, before. It’s always been – well, a sign of times, I suppose.”

Bernie’s lips broke into a grin. Her head dropped to one side as she surveyed her new colleague with some intensity. Eventually she spoke. “Are you getting enough vitamin B, Dr Campbell?” she asked, mock earnestly. A flush crept up Serena’s neck and onto her cheeks, her nostrils flaring as she decided how to respond. “Yes. Well,” she stuttered, flattening the back of her hair before marching back in the direction they’d come. Bernie listened to her footsteps fading away before releasing the chuckle that’d been rumbling in her throat. She’d never enjoyed a cold reception so much before in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the schoolteacher AU that no one asked for! Please let me know if this is worth pursuing or if it should be consigned to the graveyard for abandoned fics.


	2. Chapter 2

Bernie learned a lot during her first week at St Winifred’s. She learned that the school gates closed at 8.45am sharp, and even staff had to suffer the ignominy of buzzing reception to beg entry after that. (She learned this twice, in fact.) She learned that colleagues wrote their names on pints of milk _for a reason_ , _Ms Wolfe_ , and there is a shop just across the road. And she learned that Dr Serena Campbell knew every rule that had ever been enacted in this institution, and was eager to share that knowledge with Bernie. She just didn’t want to actually talk to her.

Within hours of arriving, Bernie had pinned leaflets for a local listening service, a study support group, and a walking weekend to her door, as well as affixing an open box of sanitary items beneath a hand-written sign that said, “Help yourself!” in looping letters. On her arrival the following day (already panting from the sprint up from the gate), she had found them all in a pile on her desk, with a brief note to explain that actually all leaflets had to be approved by reception and placed on designated noticeboards, _not_ staff doors. As for the _products_ , well, these were available from the medical room.

The following morning, she was greeted by a note informing her that in fact music was not to be played in staff offices during teaching hours, even if you are trying to create a haven for Year Eights sobbing about quadratic equations. And the morning after that, an unsigned reminder that the school operated a strict no smoking policy. _Whoops_ , Bernie thought, dousing her room with another few blasts of Febreze, just in case. She listened for the sound of swiftly moving heels.

“Dr Campbell,” she said, stepping out of her doorway as Serena made to go through her own. She was belatedly returning from assembly, pulling off her robes and returning them to a hanger on the coatstand.

“Ms Wolfe, I have to get ready before I get to the lab; I’m sorry.”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just I only seem to see you for costume changes.” Serena stopped part way through pulling on her white coat and glared at her. Bernie pressed on. “All these rules I keep breaking… is there somewhere I can read them? All of them? That way you won’t have to wait until I’ve left for the day to write me a note.” She smiled: a white flag. Serena shot her the sort of look you give to the person who mentions that grandma just farted at the dinner table, chewed her lip for a second pondering her response, and then simply walked out and away towards the science block. “Right. OK. Good,” Bernie muttered to herself, returning to her own office.

\--

There were no notes after that. Only Serena’s irritated expression whenever Bernie spoke in staff meetings – Bernie could all but hear her bristling the second she sought to claim the floor with a polite cough. Serena’s refusal to take one of the caramel HobNobs once she discovered that Bernie had left them in the staff room. Serena’s horrified grimace when Elizabeth Matterson-Wade ran past her in the playground, blazer clutched in one hand and bag scuffing the floor in the other, shouting “Bernie! Bernie! That book you lent me…” _First names? Had anyone actually checked this woman’s CV?_

That day she watched them walking away, Bernie with her arm across Elizabeth’s shoulders, listening intently. As usual she wore a loose-fitting checked shirt that draped just so over skinny jeans, Chelsea boots drumming solidly on the tarmac. As usual her sleeves were turned up to reveal tanned forearms, a simple watch on one wrist and a hairband on the other. As usual Serena found herself infuriated by the effortless charm of the woman who was doing everything wrong and yet, somehow, hosted a steady flow of pupils and colleagues in her office – now filled with brightly coloured images, flowers, cushions; the warm timbre of her laugh easily and routinely penetrating the wall that separated them.

Bernie had all but given up trying to breach that barrier herself. She had only meant to stand her ground on that first day; prove that she had a sense of humour and would not, in fact, be the sort of soft touch who looked to get the girls out of mocks just because the family cat was off its dinner. It had amused her to see how easily Serena took against her, but she hadn’t meant to torture her. Not really.

When she found herself with some paperwork to finish after the bell on a Friday afternoon, she decided she might as well make two cups of tea as make one. She approached Serena’s door carefully, fearing that she would probably let the drink go cold sooner than take it. Hearing a raised voice, she paused for a moment. She couldn’t quite make out what was being said, and she could only hear one side of the conversation; Serena must be on the phone. The exchange grew sharper and sharper until Serena’s voice became a shout and then stopped abruptly, the phone clattering loudly onto the desk before everything was still.

Bernie was drowning in the silence. She couldn’t walk away or go into her own office without alerting Serena to her presence right outside the door. There was nothing for it. She knocked in a way that she hoped suggested she had no idea what had just gone on.

Maybe Serena would just ignore it.

Maybe she should just go and drink both the damn teas.

“Enter." 

Ah.

“Dr Campbell,” she started, nudging the door open and raising the mugs in Serena’s direction. “I was making myself one so…” She put the drinks on the cabinet to her right and stood awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Serena said, looking only briefly in Bernie’s direction. Bernie followed her distracted gaze back to the desk, where a tumbler of red wine sat guiltily by the keyboard.

“Dr Campbell, I know we got off on the wrong foot-” Bernie was cut off by the arrival of Ms. Collins, the head mistress, on her way home.

“Ms. Wolfe, Dr Campbell,” she said briskly, but with a smile. “I do trust we won’t be detaining you for too much of the weekend.” She looked from Bernie to Serena to the desk, where a glass of red wine that should have been easy to miss seemed, to Bernie, to scream about its existence. “Serena, I do hope that’s not what I think it is?”

Serena closed her eyes for a second and rested her chin on her hands. “I’m afraid it is, Beatrice.” She sounded tired.

“Yes, I’m so sorry Ms. Collins.” Serena’s eyes snapped up to the door. “It was a bit of a tradition, where I was before: a Friday afternoon drink – just a small tipple.” Bernie was gesticulating wildly, the tone of her voice undulating as she span the tale so animatedly that Serena was almost tempted to believe it herself. “Fortunately Dr Campbell put me right and we were just about to have a cup of tea instead” – she pointed to cabinet, where exhibits A and B were still gently steaming. “Would you join us?”

“Ah, no – uh, thank you, Ms. Wolfe, I must get home. I know you’re used to a very different environment, but I would appreciate it if you would keep alcohol off the premises.” Bernie smiled obediently. With a nod, Ms. Collins turned and made for the car park. Bernie stood looking in to the corridor until the sound of her steps was long faded, unsure what she’d be turning in to if she returned her gaze to the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Serena said, eventually. Icily. She was looking directly ahead of her, towards the windows, rather than at her colleague. Bernie swept her palms down the legs of her trousers. Took a deep breath, gulping in the air as if she had just surfaced from water.

“Like I said: we got off on the wrong foot. I’ve already broken plenty of rules since I got here, so there didn’t seem much harm in adding another.” She laughed, just briefly. “You, on the other hand…”

Serena remained silent, still looking straight ahead.

Bernie clapped her hands on her hips. “Well, I, um…” She turned to go.

“I don’t know what you expect in return for your _heroics_ ,” Serena said, injecting a strong dose of sarcasm into her last word. There was nothing to see outside the window except the darkening sky, but still she faced in that direction, even if Bernie could see her eyes flitting around the room.

Bernie picked up a mug of tea and put it down in front of Serena. “You know where I am when you want to talk about it,” she said, squeezing Serena’s shoulder for just a moment before collecting her own tea and stepping back to her own office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel unexpectedly nervous about posting this chapter! Please be kind.


	3. Chapter 3

Soon enough the winter term had scooped them up and ushered them towards the Christmas break; days turned in to weeks and while Bernie’s office became something of a hub – there were now a couple of chairs in the corridor to accommodate waiting pupils, Serena’s door was usually locked as firmly as her features. Her dislike of Bernie seemed to have given way to a more general irritation, and too often Bernie listened to her leave not with the proud stride she had struck on that first day but with a defeated shuffle. 

Occasionally Bernie would spot Dr Campbell outside of school: across the car park at Sainsbury’s; coming out of the watch repair shop; once she thought she caught a glimpse of her colleague arguing with someone through a car window, but she couldn’t be sure. It was hard not to worry about her. It was hard to find a way of making that worry count for anything when Serena seemed determined only to look in Bernie’s direction when Bernie was looking elsewhere. The second she tried to engage, Serena’s eyes fell to her lap, the table, a folder - anywhere but Bernie’s face.

Which is why a couple of weeks before Christmas, Serena found herself grimacing at the sound of a throaty laugh coming from the office next door – _really, does anyone actually laugh like that? Or is she trying to wind me up?_ On the other side of the wall, Bernie couldn’t help it. Opening up the little sheet of paper she’d taken from the Secret Santa pot, her eyes traced the six letters – _Serena_ – and the chortle was out of her mouth before she could think about it. Of course. Of course! _Of course_ she was the one who now had to find a gift, worth no more than £10, for the one member of St Win’s staff who hated her unreservedly.

-

Secret Santa is not supposed to be this difficult, Bernie thought as she wandered around town that Sunday afternoon. It’s ten quid. You buy a half decent bottle of wine. _Probably not a good idea_. You buy some overpriced smellies. _Are you trying to tell me something, Ms Wolfe?_ You buy a sodding candle that smells like cinnamon. _Why not just tell her you couldn’t be bothered?_ She pushed her hands into her pockets and made towards the courtyard of independent shops around the corner. If there was nothing in there it was officially time for a scone and something strong and hot.

Somewhere under the bobble hat that had renewed its annual mediation between the winter winds and Bernie’s tousled blonde mane, a lightbulb pinged to life.

-

Eye-opening. That would be the way to describe the last day of term at St Winifred’s, if you were to ask Bernie. It wasn’t like her previous schools had been too shabby, so it had always struck her as a universal rule that the last day of term saw almost nothing of any lasting substance occur. Arriving at assembly that morning in the most ludicrous Christmas jumper she’d been able to find, reindeer antlers on top of her head and a badge that automatically emitted a hearty ‘Ho ho ho!’ every time she leaned over, Bernie Wolfe had quickly discovered that today was very much business as usual at St Winifred’s. She never wore her robes to assembly anyway, but the contrast between what she was sporting and the rest of the staff had the Year 11s loudly snickering. She smiled indulgently at them – embarrassment wasn’t really something Bernie did – and rolled her eyes as if to say _look at this stuffy lot!_ The number of girls with a crush on the Pastoral Care Officer crept higher. And again when Ms Collins instructed them all to turn to page 163 in their hymn books and the opening bars were accompanied by ‘Ho ho ho!’ as Bernie reached under her seat. 

There was still no alcohol in the staff room after the last bell, but there was hot chocolate with squirty cream and mini marshmallows. Mince pies. A Yule log that Mrs Buckle (food tech) had whipped up. A few more Christmas jumpers had appeared, too, and someone had put a festive playlist on; Mr Routledge (history) did his best to bop around the Christmas tree. This was more like it. Even Dr Campbell seemed in better spirits, and Bernie couldn’t help thinking that the end of term, bringing with it the St Winifred’s traditions with which the Head of Science was so intimately familiar, had probably helped. She collected her Secret Santa present from the coffee table and slipped back to her office, leaving the old hands to it.

-

“I know it was you, you know.”

Bernie stopped, took a step backwards and turned to look over her right shoulder. She hadn’t heard Serena come back to the office and had hoped to head home without bumping in to anyone.

“What was me?” She asked, smiling at the sight of Dr Campbell with a tiny dab of whipped cream at the corner of her mouth. She put her bags down and leaned against the door frame, crossing one foot over the other.

“The secret santa,” Serena said, narrowing her eyes – not entirely unkindly – as she looked at Bernie for what they both realised was the first time in weeks.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bernie shrugged, still smiling. She threw her hands apart in front of her. “I don’t know who got you.”

Serena just sat and looked at her for a bit. _I know you want to crack a smile, Dr Campbell_ , Bernie thought, and made up her mind that she would make that happen before she went home for the holidays, whatever it took. 

“Nobody else would show such flagrant disregard for the spending limit,” Serena said, lifting one eyebrow. The edges of her mouth twitched, just slightly.

“It wasn’t much over!” Bernie grinned.

“Ha! So it was you!” Finally Serena relaxed in to a smile, lips slightly parted, as she looked down at the envelope on her desk. “And it was nearly three times over.”

Bernie did her best to look as if she simply didn’t understand maths. The sight of Dr Campbell smiling had been worth every penny. She tried not to look as if she was enjoying the moment too much, in case it was another few months before her colleague did it again. “Will you and your husband enjoy it?” she asked, folding her arms and looking down at her shoes.

Serena inhaled sharply. “We. I. Yes, thank you.” When Bernie looked up, the smile was gone. She cocked her head to the side, silently imploring Serena to tell her what she’d said wrong. Serena turned back to her desk, pushed the envelope into the top drawer and punched her password into her computer. “Have a good Christmas,” she said, without looking over her shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this was a bit of a slow burn? :-)


	4. Chapter 4

Bernie rather liked having Boxing Day to herself, now that she was used to it. Waking up alone on Christmas morning was still a bit odd – she still found herself lying in bed, listening to the silence of an empty house and imagining ( _remembering_ ) the sound of Cameron and Charlotte’s stage whispers about what time it was from just outside their parents’ bedroom door. _Do you think we can get up yet? Do you think Mummy will let us?_ The sound of Marcus acting excited about the teeth marks that Rudolph had made on the end of the carrot left the night before next to an empty glass on the table. The sound of their laughter, the four of them, when the children were still young enough to make everything OK in the house at the bottom of Bridge Road.

Now her own house, not far from where the children grew up but far enough that she could honestly call it a fresh start, would hear only her until supper, when the kids would arrive to share presents and tales of their awful stepmother – _oh come on now, I’m sure she’s not that bad_ , Bernie will say with a wicked grin – and some port with cheese and crackers. They’re all grown up now, and Bernie wonders how long it might be before they have children of their own and Christmas Day is taken from her entirely. They’re all grown up, and Bernie can’t help but ruffle their hair and give them bear hugs and kiss their foreheads when they’re heading out the door, just as she’d done when they left for school, or football practice, or piano lessons.

Boxing Day is different, though. If she goes to bed feeling a little maudlin on Christmas Day, she shrugs it off the following morning by opening all the curtains, cracking open the windows and blasting the radio loud. She never leaves the washing up to do. She’ll put clean sheets on the bed. And then she goes for a run, a nice long route that gives her time to clear her head and stretch her legs. She likes the feeling of cold, brittle air in her lungs. She likes that she’ll start off shivering slightly and end up getting home sweating and longing for a nice hot shower. She likes that she almost never sees anyone, except for those people who are still on their way home from last night’s festivities, or families passing by in SUVs stuffed with children and presents and the dog, parents eyeing her jealously.

Almost never sees anyone. Except that when she got to the park this year and started around the path at the perimeter, she was sure she could see Dr Campbell sitting on a bench over at the far side. No, it couldn’t be. It was – she lifted her wrist and looked at her watch, shaking her head – it was 8.45am on Boxing Day. Must be someone else. She tried not to keep looking across as she ran, wanting to maintain her pace and not stumble into the flowerbeds. She looked again as she rounded one corner – it really did look like Serena Campbell… but no – carried on, took another look as she turned the corner that’d soon take her past the bench… that was definitely Serena Campbell.

Bernie felt her usual bravado deserting her: if Dr Campbell was here, alone, on a frosty bench first thing on Boxing Day, she was almost certainly not in a good mood. Stopping to speak to her seemed like a bad idea. _Not_ stopping to speak to her was probably a bad idea, too, however. Bugger. In the end she opted for a hit and run: Serena looked up as Bernie got within a few yards, and Bernie gave a nod, smiled, and continued on her way.

\- 

Serena sat on the bench and waited for the cold air to bite hard enough to take her mind off everything else. From here you could see enough of the trees and little enough of the houses of Holby to convince yourself that you were not, in fact, in the middle of suburbia, but somewhere green and open, maybe near the sea. The sort of place that you might visit on holiday, staying in a little brick-built cottage with an open fire and a steep little staircase and a bench under the window that caught the last of the evening sun. Maybe that’s what she would do before term started. Where was that place they’d been to? St Ives? A long weekend of Shiraz and fish and chips.

The crunching of gravel over her left shoulder alerted Serena to the end of her solitude. _Bloody typical! Who goes running on Boxing Day? Aren’t we allowed one day’s grace before being hit by the guilt and self-loathing that comes wrapped under the foil of each and every Quality Street?_ She looked up at the approaching runner and did a double take. _Berenice_ bloody _Wolfe? Oh fantastic. Of course she’s out running today, here, right now. Thanks, universe! I mean it makes sense; she’d have to do regular exercise to keep herself in such good shape – wait, what?_ She looked up and prepared herself for comment, only to see Ms Wolfe nod, smile and run past.

-

She wasn’t sure when she decided on another lap of the park, but soon enough Bernie found herself heading back in Dr Campbell’s direction. On the bench, Serena’s instinct was to head home before they would have to greet one another again, but she remembered what she was going home to and slumped back into a seated position. Bernie slowed down to a stop at the other end of the bench and stood puffing out warm clouds, stretching out her quads. 

“Merry Christmas, Dr Campbell,” she said, cheerfully; “I hope it was a good one.”

Serena let out a laugh – a brief, tight huff. “Won’t your family be missing you?”

Bernie smiled and sat down. “I had supper with my children yesterday, but they spend Christmas with their father.” She rolled her ankles slowly, enjoying the stretch. 

“Oh, I, er… I’m sorry.” Serena still hadn’t really looked in Bernie’s direction. 

“Don’t be. It was all over a long time ago. I’m quite happy having a bit of time to myself. Plus I don’t have to hush anyone during Morecambe and Wise.” She laughed, hoping to encourage the same from Serena; a lip twitch was all she got. “What about you? Won’t anyone be missing you, Dr Campbell?”

“Oh for god’s sake call me Serena!” Bernie almost jumped at the snapped response, making to raise her hands defensively – _I surrender!_ – before spotting the tears in Serena’s eyes. Bernie shuffled along the bench so that she was closer to her colleague. Not quite touching, but close enough. They sat in silence for a few moments, Serena looking away and Bernie sat eyes front, her hands on her knees.

“ _Won’t_ anyone be missing you?” Bernie asked again, softly this time. She looked at Serena’s hands, twisting this way and that in her lap. Eventually Serena sighed; Bernie could hear the emotion making her throat claggy.

“Elinor’s gone to her boyfriend’s already,” she said. “Could hardly wait to get away.”

“Elinor’s your daughter?” Bernie asked. Serena nodded, slowly, her face turned to the sky to try and keep any tears from falling. “And your husb-”

“Ha!” Serena cut in, the mirthless, pained sound pulling Bernie’s gaze to her face. “Edward is probably already passed out on the sofa cradling a bottle of vodka.” Another jogger passed and Bernie smiled a greeting before turning back to Serena. “Or if I’m really lucky he’ll have found somebody else’s sofa to black out on. Somebody else’s bed.” Bernie winced. She had no idea if her touch would make it better or worse for Serena, but she couldn’t help closing the remaining gap between them and putting a hand over Serena’s.

Serena looked braced for words that wouldn’t soothe, advice that wouldn’t help, something, _anything_ , that she could catch and throw back at Bernie, hard. But Bernie just sat, silently, running her thumb over the back of Serena’s hand. When they remembered this moment, in the future, neither would be able to tell for how long they sat that way. Only that eventually Serena closed her eyes and sighed, exhausted, and Bernie let go of her hand to place an arm around her shoulder. “All right,” she whispered. “All right.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bernie nudged the door to with her foot and placed two mugs on the coffee table; Serena smiled in thanks. The sounds of netball practice – the Year Nines had a grudge match against Our Lady coming up – gradually began to fade as they watched steam spiral off the tea. “Did Jenny Williams come and see you about her coursework?” Bernie asked, digging around in the filing cabinet for a packet of custard creams. She raised them triumphantly, shoving one in whole before passing them to Serena. “Yes, she’s… I’m not giving her an extension, Bernie.”

Bernie sat down in the soft chair opposite Serena and brushed the crumbs from her fingertips. “She just wants some reassurance, Serena. Can you look at her notes and tell her she’s on the right track?” Serena pulled a tight smile that barely made a dent on her cheeks. “I don’t do-” Bernie dropped her head to one side, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Fine. Fine. Tell her to come and see me next week.” Bernie dunked a biscuit in her tea and just about got it to her mouth before it collapsed. “Goodfpnh,” she said, chomping on it. “I already have.”

-

This was a thing that they did now, sharing a cup of tea on a Friday afternoon – only if Serena made the suggestion (sometimes she was out the door before Bernie had even registered that the bell had rung), and only ever in Bernie’s office. Ostensibly this was because Bernie was the one with comfy chairs (and biscuits), but it was also because Serena didn’t want to open up her private space to a regular visitor. Although Bernie knew something of the trials of her home life thanks to their meeting on Boxing Day, Serena still wasn’t sure that she trusted her completely, or even if she wanted to.

Bernie knew this as well as Serena did. It had been several months now but when she asked how Serena was, she knew she was as likely to hear ‘Fine thanks’ as she was to hear anything more. They hadn’t talked about Boxing Day since, though it had been in their eyes for a while afterwards. Serena felt compromised. It didn’t stop Bernie asking though.

“I’m helping Charlotte move into new digs tomorrow,” she offered, rolling her eyes even though she was delighted to spend the day with her daughter; hoped there might be some DIY involved. “What does the weekend hold for you?” She slurped some tea and put the mug back down. “Still a bit hot.”

“Oh, the usual,” Serena said, as if there was no evasion in her words. “Where’s Charlotte off to?” She sipped her tea despite the warning.

“Not far. Couple of streets I think? It’ll mostly be posters and CDs I imagine, although there might be a few books, some of them relating to her course, if I’m lucky.” She laughed and was glad to see Serena chuckle too.

“You know they don’t listen to CDs these days?” Serena teased. “It’s all downloads and vinyl.”

Bernie huffed, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m still mourning the death of the mixtape,” she joked, grateful to see Serena laugh – _properly_ laugh – in response. “Now there’s a blast from the past,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “Edward used to…” She cleared her throat, throwing a glance at Bernie that begrudgingly offered her congratulations on getting her to open up. “Edward used to make me the cheesiest compilations known to man,” she finished, taking a gulp of tea and reaching for a biscuit. “The day he discovered a passion for country and western…” She shook her head and smiled at Bernie.

“Oh come on now!” Bernie protested, her face as animated as ever. Serena had no intention of conceding this point but she was happy to watch Bernie try. Was that what she liked about this woman? She hated that Bernie had to try so very little to endear herself to, apparently, everyone at the school, and yet here she was trying so hard to befriend Serena when there was nothing in it for her. Serena was sure she couldn’t be a good friend to anyone. A good colleague, yes. Fun, even. But she hadn’t invited anyone into her life since… since… “It has a lot to offer as a genre,” Bernie interrupted her thoughts with an expansive wave of her arms. “There’s, um, that one, you know, with the dance” – Serena arched an eyebrow – “and, and, the famous one; the one that everybody knows...” Bernie clicked her fingers, trying to remember.

“Except you, apparently,” Serena cut in, dry as a bone but still smiling. Bernie shrugged again. She was pretty useless with remembering stuff like that – she knew it when she heard it, that was enough – but she was happy to sacrifice herself on this altar if it meant that Serena loosened up a bit. She wasn’t sure why she had made it her personal mission to be a friend to Serena (the friend she needed even if not the one she wanted), after having taken so much fun out of rocking the boat to begin with. Maybe they were part and parcel of the same thing. Bernie recognised all too well someone adrift on a sea calmed only by their own numbness of feeling, and knew that eventually something or someone would have to intervene.

“What are you doing on Sunday?” Serena asked; Bernie tried and failed not to look completely stunned. They both spoke at the same time.

“I’m, er, I’m…”

“No don’t worry.”

Bernie smiled and spoke quietly. “Go on, what did you have in mind for Sunday?”

Serena fiddled with her pendant. “No, really, it’s fine, I just thought I’d better use those vouchers you got me before they expire and I don’t know, don’t worry, maybe Elinor…” She was speaking quickly, and worrying her necklace so much that Bernie feared it might snap.

“Serena. Serena,” she said, making a _slow down_ gesture. “I’d be happy to go with you” – Serena pulled a face – “I mean, I’d _like_ to go with you. But I can’t. Not this Sunday. I have a date. I don’t think it’s going anywhere but I do really want to see the play.” She shot a conspiratorial smile in Serena’s direction. “I know: I’m a terrible person.

“Besides, if we’re going to head into London why don’t we go on a Saturday and make a weekend of it? We could book rooms and go to a gallery or something on the Sunday?” She paused as she took in the look on Serena’s face. _Mortified_? “Ah, sorry, yes, I realise you’ve got people who mind you disappearing for the weekend. Forget I said anything.”

“No, I think I’d like that,” Serena said, getting up to leave. “I’ve got until June to use them; let’s book for when it’s a bit warmer.”

-

It wasn’t that it had weighed on Bernie’s mind over the weekend, because she’d been too busy for that, but she had half expected to come in on Monday to find a note retracting the offer. Instead came a sharp knock and Serena’s head poked round the door before assembly: “How was it?” she asked. “The date, I mean.”

Bernie laughed, squashed down the impulse to ask where the real Serena Campbell was, and responded. “It was, um…” Serena cocked her head in encouragement; Bernie thought for a moment. “The _play_ was excellent,” she said, slowly. “Ah, I see,” Serena said, turning back towards her own door. “Poor chap.”

“Um, actually,” Bernie started, but Serena was already in her office, gowning up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, very nervous about this again. We're slowly getting there.


	6. Chapter 6

In the end, Bernie just pushed open the door and said it. “Serena, I’m gay. It was a date with a woman.”

Serena looked up from her desk and blinked. Swallowed. Ummed. She looked rather more horror-struck than Bernie had anticipated.

“Bernie,” she said. There was a second’s pause in which the penny dropped. Loudly. Bounced around on the parquet floor before spinning noisily and keeling over. “Bernie, this is Mr Perkins and Mrs Banks. From the-”

“Board of governors,” Bernie finished, staring wide-eyed in to the room. “I’m so sorry to interrupt.” Her natural reaction to this sort of cock-up being to laugh, she held on to her grin as long as she could before giving in to a light chuckle. “Ha, I’ll, er, I’ll talk to you later, Dr Campbell,” she said, beaming at everyone in the room before closing the door and stepping into her own office. Mr Perkins, Mrs Banks and Serena Campbell sat and looked at one another while they listened to Bernie laughing loudly from next door. Serena cleared her throat and suggested that they continue.

\- 

It wasn’t her fault, really it wasn’t. Bernie had been trying to find a moment to talk to Serena all week. Not because she had any worries about telling Serena that she dated women, but because she didn’t want her to find out from anyone else first. Their friendship – was she allowed to call it that, yet? Their _entente cordiale_ , anyway – wasn’t brittle, not like it had been, but she felt that Serena’s faith in her was fragile, susceptible to this sort of blow. It wouldn’t have been a problem had Alice Doyle (maths, you’ll remember) not spotted Bernie collecting drinks at the interval and then pressed her for more information shortly before Monday afternoon’s staff meeting. Bernie had tried to steer the conversation towards the quality of the production, the ingenuity of the set design, even the firmness of the seats, but Ms Doyle wanted to know more about why Bernie wouldn’t be seeing her date again. _Oh but she looked so in to you!_

So Bernie had spent the week attempting to grab a moment with Serena, without success. There she was passing the chapel – but no, there, also, was Gabby Fenwick frantically patting scorch marks on her lab coat as she chased after the Head of Science. There she was in the car park on Tuesday morning – juggling a huge pile of exercise books that Bernie had offered to help carry and ended up delivering to a classroom filled with Year 10s. Bernie thought her luck was looking up when she heard Serena return to her office during break on Wednesday, but had then heard the key turn in the lock before she’d even made it to the other side of her desk; heard Serena pick up the phone, and decided it was not a good time.

When she’d seen Serena’s door ajar after lessons had finished on Thursday, she thought she’d spotted the perfect opportunity to set her straight, as it were. She chuckled again as she pictured the looks on their faces. That was certainly one way of doing it.

-

Bernie recognised the knock as Serena’s and called out, “Come in!” She let the brochures she was sifting through fall back onto the desk and sat back in her chair.

Serena appeared, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips. “You made quite the impression,” she quipped, pausing in the doorway.

Bernie huffed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling, another huge grin breaking across her face. “Yes, sorry about that,” she said through an out breath, gesturing for Serena to take a seat and moving over to ‘the talking chairs’, as she thought of them, herself. “I trust I haven’t thrown the school in to scandal?” she asked, tucking one leg underneath her as she sat down. She was only half serious.

“No of course not,” Serena replied. Even at the height of their hostilities, she wouldn’t have dreamed of making an issue of a colleague’s sexuality. Or anyone else’s, for that matter. “Why the big announcement, though?” They looked at one another for a moment, each, as it happened, wondering how candid Bernie’s response would be.

Entirely, Bernie decided.

“You assumed that I’d been on a date with a man-”

“Yes I apologise for that, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s fine, I just…” Bernie picked at the seam of her jeans, just above the knee. “I didn’t want you to think I had hidden anything from you.” Once the words were out, Bernie was struck by the intimacy they implied. They hung in the air like sparkler trails. “Alice, Ms Doyle?” she continued; Serena nodded. “She was at the theatre the same evening…”

“And you were worried she would tell me and I'd react like some terrible harridan?” Serena wasn’t sure she’d blame Bernie if she had been, but she looked hurt just the same.

“No, not at all!” Bernie laughed, smiling until she was sure that Serena had clocked her expression. “I didn’t want you to think I’d been happy to let you think the wrong thing, is all.” She wanted to add, in plain words, that she wanted Serena to trust her, but resisted. Few things were more firmly guaranteed to diminish someone’s trust than asking them for it. “Plus if we’re going to London together…” Bernie shook her head.

“Yes, I was planning on booking separate rooms, Bernie,” Serena said through a smile. “And even if I wasn’t, I don’t expect every lesbian I meet to jump me at the first opportunity.” Serena ducked her head to catch Bernie’s gaze; this time it was she who looked horror-struck.

“God, no, Serena, that’s not what I meant!” Serena’s eyebrow quirked upwards again. “I mean, oh, that sounded wrong! Of course you are _eminently_ jumpable. I, uh, I…” Bernie dissolved in to laughter. Again. This time Serena laughed too.

“How are you fixed for the bank holiday weekend at the end of May?” Serena asked. Bernie didn’t need to look at her diary to know she’d be free. “Sounds like a plan. Got time for a cuppa?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise they'll go to London soon. And the chapter will be longer. Please don't give up on me just yet!


	7. Chapter 7

Bernie didn’t have a problem with punctuality - if that’s how other people chose to live their lives, then good for them. She, however, had come to think of clocks as a kind of rough guide: she would never be more than 15 minutes late for anything, but she probably wouldn’t be less than five, either. So when Serena arrived at the train station 10 minutes ahead of their agreed meeting time and spotted Bernie already on the platform, she couldn’t keep the look of surprise from her face. “Hello,” she said, extending the ‘o’ sound and filling it with intrigue.

Bernie had her face tilted towards the morning sun, enjoying the light that set her closed eyelids aglow, and the breeze that gently pulled her hair this way and that. She was sat astride a small weekend case, her fingers tapping an unsteady beat on the top, between her knees. At the sound of Serena’s voice she opened her eyes and turned her head slowly. “Hello,” she said, standing up. She had made a deliberate effort to arrive in plenty of time this morning - although the trains ran into London every 25 minutes or so, she didn’t want to do anything that might start things off on the wrong foot. Serena only had so much patience, and she knew that if they’d said they were going to get the 9.35 train, Serena would arrive by 9.20. Bernie had actually been here early enough to watch the 9.10 service board.  

“We picked a nice day for it,” she said, raising her eyebrows towards the sky.

Serena smiled; somehow this statement didn’t sound like hackneyed small talk when coming from Bernie, sunlight dancing in her hair. “Indeed we did,” she replied. “It may even be too warm for that hoodie you like so much.”

“Oh, well,” Bernie said, “I’ve packed it just in case.” She winked as Serena wrestled with a look of terror.

When the train pulled into the station, Bernie pressed the button to open the door and gestured for Serena to step on first, grabbing both of their cases. While Serena took the window seat, Bernie lifted each case into the rack before sitting down. “I see,” Serena said: “my big macho date for the day?”

Bernie blushed, just barely, and pulled her chin in to her chest. “Well, it is your Christmas present. Plus…” Serena waited as an impish grin tugged at Bernie’s lips. “You’re quite small… I wasn’t sure you could reach the overhead compartment.” Serena gave a squeak of indignation and lightly punched Bernie’s shoulder. “I’m not _that_ small, thank you!”

-

Serena let Bernie retrieve her case when they arrived in London, but insisted she would wheel it along, thank you very much. Bernie hadn’t really thought anything of it on the platform at Holby, had just picked up the cases because that’s what she always did, a kind of instinctive chivalry (something that had often scraped at Marcus’s ego, in the past), so she made no argument about it. Wheeling two cases through London streets wouldn’t have been much fun anyway, especially on the cobbley bits.

They made straight for the hotel, Bernie standing with their bags while Serena checked in. She smiled on hearing Serena correct the receptionist – ‘no, it’s _Doctor_ Campbell, actually’ – but when Serena turned around self-consciously, Bernie knitted her brow and nodded, just once, as if to say _quite right too_. Serena’s often prim nature was entirely at odds with her own, but Bernie found it rather endearing that Serena cared about the little things, only afterwards fretting about the impression she’d given.

They were on the fifth floor, rooms 529 and 530, the two doors facing one another across the end of a wide hallway laid with such thick carpet that it was a job to wheel their small cases along. Serena handed a key card to Bernie and looked at her watch; they had plenty of time before their booking, but she wanted to take a look at the exhibits, too, especially as Bernie hadn’t been before. “Shall we say half an hour to get ready?” she suggested. Bernie hummed her agreement, already turning the handle to enter her room. “I’ll knock,” Serena added, smiling.

Half an hour. Bernie went to the loo, washed her face quickly over the sink, hung up the clothes that would suffer most for sitting in her case all day, and then lay spread-eagled on the gigantic bed, which was made up in white waffled sheets. Now what to do with the other 26 minutes. She flicked through the folder of useful information for guests, had a look at the sachets next to the kettle, and checked on the view; her room looked out of the back of the hotel, over a service yard and in to other buildings. So no view, really, though she hoped it would mean a decent night’s sleep in the middle of London.

Eventually there was a light knock at the door. “You ready?” Serena called.

-

Bernie had found nothing for Serena in the shops on that Sunday afternoon in December. Had stopped looking, truth be told, once she’d been struck by the idea. Getting home, she had stamped her boots on the mat and chucked her bobble hat in the direction of the bannister before dropping onto the couch and lifting her laptop onto her knees. She would have to break the spending limit, especially if she went for the prosecco option, but she gladly forfeited the extra cash for peace of mind. It was a good gift, she thought. Better than a bloody candle, at any rate.

Serena had initially been undecided as to whether it was a good gift or not. Her instinctive reaction was to wonder at the lack of imagination – not that she could have expected Bernie to associate her with anything besides _science_ , because the woman really hadn’t had a lot to go on. And the more she had thought about it, the sweeter it had seemed: Bernie hadn’t bought her a gift, she had given her an opportunity, and no Secret Santa in 23 years had done that. Bernie must have known about Serena’s fondness for Shiraz - _everybody_ knew, didn’t they? – yet she had been determined to avoid the simplest option. This was a gesture: a show of care (despite the then frostiness of their acquaintance), a show of kindness and patience (Bernie had written little in the card, so as not to give the game away, but Serena felt as though it had said ‘I’ll wait for you to come round about me’, all the same), and a show of generosity (of spirit, as much as anything else), and yes, the more she thought about it, the more Serena was touched by it.

-

They fell in through the revolving doors and paused, in the foyer, to clear their heads of the din of Euston Road. The Wellcome Building, while by no means the only or even the oldest piece of classical architecture in the area, offers a particular kind of sanctuary from the four noisy lanes of traffic just outside its doors. The foyer is large, bright, and white, save for the swirl of steel that carries a staircase to the upper floors. There is activity, but it is of the hushed and purposeful sort you find in a library. You can smell books, and wooden cabinets, and coffee.

“Do you want to start with the consciousness exhibition, or the permanent collections?” Serena asked.

Bernie wrinkled her nose in thought. “Where are the gory implements and weird old sex toys?” she asked. Serena couldn’t help but smile as Bernie’s eyes widened with schoolgirlish delight. “Let’s do those last.”

-

The waitress set down the cake stand and two plates, nudging aside the large teapot occupying the middle of the table. She came back a moment later with two glasses of prosecco, gave them a smile and a nod, and left them to it: Bernie was still talking rather animatedly about the [Chinese sex fruits](https://wellcomecollection.org/selection-objects/?image=6). “Do you think you can get replicas in the shop?” she wondered aloud. “Could make an interesting addition to my office…” Serena raised an eyebrow as she bit in to a salmon and cucumber sandwich. “If you want to send Beatrice to an early grave…” she quipped.

Bernie chuckled as she laid the napkin across her lap. “Anyway,” she said, shaking her head as if to cast out any lingering images of fornicating porcelain couples, and lifting her glass. Serena followed suit, waiting for Bernie to make the toast. “Happy Christmas!” she said, attracting another look from the people at the table next to them as she clinked the top of her glass against Serena’s. Serena blushed slightly, but she was still smiling. “Ahem,” she started, “well, yes, OK.” Bernie grinned back at her, tucking in to another sandwich.

They’d demolished the miniature cakes and were constructing their scones before the conversation moved beyond how tasty the sandwiches were and how moist the lemon drizzle slice was. Bernie had spread butter and a moderate layer of jam on half of her scone, and was now burying it under at least half an inch of clotted cream. Serena wondered where it all went, and then remembered the running.

“So, uh, how long have you been divorced,” she asked, watching Bernie dab an extra dollop of cream onto the side of the scone, for good measure. “Actually, perhaps more to the point… how did you come to be married?” A pause. “To Marcus, I mean.” Another pause. These moments felt excruciatingly long, to Serena. Bernie was more concerned with maintaining the correct scone/butter/jam/cream ratio. “Sorry,” Serena added, shaking her head.

“Mmff, don’t be,” Bernie replied through a mouthful, wiping a spot of jam from her chin and smiling goofishly in full acknowledgement of her messy eating habits. “Not like I haven’t asked myself the same question.” Serena looked up, the expression on her face betraying her discomfort. _Why hadn’t she just stuck to cake? Or the science of memory? Or 19 th century birthing instruments?_ Bernie winked, and took a swig of Earl Grey. “No, honestly, it’s fine.

“I’m afraid I took the coward’s way. For a long time. Too long. The kids were in their teens before I found the courage to leave.”

Serena carefully set her cup down. “Bernie, I’m sorry…”

“Oh no, really, there’s no great tragedy here. Marcus did nothing wrong. It wasn’t so difficult, in the early days – I wanted so much to be in love with him, to get things right. And then we had the children, and it took no effort at all to fall in love with them. We had a lot of fun, the four of us. Cameron used to” - she cut herself off, drained her cup of tea and poured another, topping up Serena’s, too. She shook her head. “You don’t want to hear this,” she said, looking for another topic of conversation.

“No I do,” Serena said, laying her hand on the table, palm down. “I do. If you don’t mind telling me.” 

Bernie smiled. “It was just another tale of someone else’s kids,” she said, “no one’s really interested in those.” She looked at Serena, holding off any objection. “Anyway, once they were in their teens, it became more difficult. They didn’t need me as they had before, and they were out more, and suddenly there were all these evenings, just me and Marcus, in the house. It’s amazing how many different ways you can find to avoid one another, even in a three-bed semi.” She laughed, just faintly, and pointed to a stray petit four: “Are you going to have that?” Serena pushed it towards Bernie, who picked it up and ate it whole. 

“I started a couple of different evening classes, just busying myself, really – I don’t think I had any intention of using the Czech language, if I’m honest. And then I met a woman called Alex.” She grinned and raised her eyebrows; this appeared to be the end of the story, as far as Bernie was concerned. She licked her front teeth and used her thumb and index finger to make sure she didn’t have any chocolate at the corners of her mouth. Really, it shouldn’t be endearing, but Serena found herself entranced.

“But Alex is no longer on the scene… or...?”

Bernie chuckled. “No, no, long time ago. Ten years? Maybe nine.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes, nine. Cam was 14 when I left Marcus and 16 when Alex left me.” Again she paused. “I suppose I should’ve been grateful that he didn’t end up burning down buildings after that kind of upheaval, let alone dropping out of med school.”

Serena sighed and offered another smile. She wanted to ask more, to fill in the gaps, but she wasn’t yet sure that they were friends. Would her interest seem voyeuristic? _Was it?_ For her part, Bernie finally remembered her napkin, and used that to wipe her mouth before putting it onto her plate. She wanted to ask more about Serena, about her family, about Edward, but she didn’t want to risk spoiling things; the wrong question would have Serena clamping shut like a prodded oyster. Better to enjoy the day. “Shall we try and walk this lot off in Regent’s Park?”

 

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

It had cooled down a bit by the time they got outside, so the walk to Regent’s Park was brisk, and when Bernie rubbed the top of her arms, Serena could all but hear her thinking about the hoodie that was no doubt scrunched up somewhere in her hotel room – Bernie smirked at Serena’s glance, as if to confirm it. As they rounded the edge of the zoo, the sun found a gap in the clouds and did enough that even stood still, they could feel the warmth on their skin. There was a bench coming up on their left, and if there had been a kickabout or a Frisbee game to watch, Bernie thought, they’d have been able to sit and enjoy it. But this part of the park was relatively quiet, and the bench reminded her of their Boxing Day meeting; she didn’t want Serena to go there. So they carried on past, Bernie suggesting that they take a look at the allotment garden – it was too late in the day to be able to get in, but they might just be able to stand on tiptoes and see how the food beds were coming on.

“I can’t see anything, Bernie,” Serena huffed, crossing her arms, as Bernie danced about on the very tips of her toes. If there was anyone still inside the garden perimeter, they would be getting a glimpse of messy blonde fringe every few seconds, followed by hooting laughter.

“OK, I concede, this wasn’t my finest idea,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and turning to face Serena. “I think I can see green beans?”

“You realise most of what’s in there will be predominantly green, at the moment?” Serena cocked her head to one side, trying to look stern. Bernie rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. Just then Serena’s expression changed, she looked… almost guilty.

“Serena?” Bernie asked.

“Is it wrong that I’m already thinking about dinner?”

Bernie heaved out a relieved laugh. “Ha, I think it’s allowed,” she said, pushing her hands into her pockets and starting to stroll in the direction of the nearest exit. “I told you you needed more cream on that scone.”

“It’s your fault for bringing me to an allotment full of food that I can’t actually see,” Serena moaned.

“I thought,” Bernie said, lowering her voice in faux seriousness, “that you weren’t that small?” She didn’t need to look up to know that Serena’s smile matched her own.

They were almost at the gates when Serena next spoke – not that it had been an uncomfortable silence. Quite the opposite. They walked in slow, ambling lines, Bernie occasionally scuffing a loose stone, Serena angling her face towards the sun; the pair of them content to wend their way just as they were, as the sounds of the city crept towards them. “What are we going to do about dinner, though?” she asked. She caught Bernie’s grin and added, “Ah” – she raised an index finger in Bernie’s direction – “not because I’m about to starve to death, I know, but we never really made any firm plans.”

Bernie shrugged her shoulders, her hands still in her pockets, the toes of her shoes scuffed and dusty. “I thought maybe we could take a stroll around some of the smaller streets of Theatreland?” she said, not really asking a question, but turning to Serena to make sure that it wasn’t the worst suggestion she had ever made. Serena raised her eyebrows, a gesture designed to get more detail out of her… friend. Yes, they were friends, she realised. She couldn’t have spent all day with somebody who wasn’t; she didn’t have the humour.

“It’s just,” Bernie was musing, her eyes half-closed, though Serena didn’t know if she was thinking about what she was about to describe, or simply how she could best describe it to Serena. Bernie could be as blunt and as daft as a child, but there were these moments when she seemed to care a great deal about what she was saying. Whether for her own or for Serena’s benefit, perhaps neither knew. “I love that part of town, in the evening. The pavements are crowded, but in a good way, and everything feels… lamplit? If that makes sense. It’s London, but softer, somehow.”

Serena couldn’t help but enjoy the romanticism of Bernie’s words, which had carried them as far as the front steps of the hotel. “We could just find somewhere to eat once the pre-theatre crowds clear?” Bernie suggested, calling the lifts.

\--

The streets were just as Bernie had described, and Serena wondered who she had shared this with before; who had put that sense of reverie in her voice. She quashed the part of her that threatened to feel put out at following in another’s footsteps, and instead felt glad that she was here to share it. It had been years since Edward had brought her to London for anything other than dull conference dinners, or her mother-in-law’s hospital appointments. She could see herself tripping around these streets with Elinor, but knew nothing could be further from her daughter’s mind. Bernie, looking at every face they passed, seeming to absorb all the energy and enthusiasm of each conversation snatched on the way, offered the crook of her arm, and Serena slipped her hand through without thinking about it. She smiled at Bernie, who looked back as if to say _don’t worry, there’s no agenda here_ , and Serena knew it was true.

Eventually, with the evening sun starting to dip behind the rooftops and that dusky lamplight Bernie had described beginning to emerge in its place, they passed a little place with a solid black door and a name written in gold above it. On one side there was a full-size window, almost completely steamed up, though not quite enough to blot out the sight of a dozen small tables jostling against one another, diners eating with knees pressed together and elbows in. They could hear the chatter, and even shouts from the kitchen, but there was no music to add to the chaos. The food smelled delicious. “Let’s try here,” Bernie suggested, nodding towards the door and lifting her elbow to allow Serena to withdraw her arm.

“Bernie, it’s packed,” Serena responded, though not with what we might call her usual exasperation.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to squeeze in somewhere,” Bernie insisted, pushing the door open and bathing them both in a blast of warm, wet air.

She distracted Serena with a wine menu and spoke to one of the waiters in hushed tones; moments later they were scooching into a tiny booth at the back of the restaurant. There was a bottle of Shiraz open and breathing on the table, next to a tealight flickering in a stained glass pot. Serena realised that Bernie must have booked this place: this table could not have been free by good luck, and Bernie could not have ordered any Shiraz that quickly. Again she battled her instincts, acknowledging but refusing the temptation to be cross at the deceit, and instead trying to enjoy the fact that there had been a plan after all. She didn’t know what to say, so she didn’t say anything, and Bernie just smiled, a twitch of a smile, raised her eyebrows and pushed a menu across the table.

It was small plates: British dishes with the odd European twist, and it was messy and lip-smacking and, Serena realised, so very Bernie. There was barbecue sauce around her mouth and she was already on her third napkin, having decided to tuck in with her hands – at the behest of the serving staff – while Serena carved away with a knife and fork. Bernie’s glass had greasy fingerprints all over it, the wine swilling perilously close to the rim as they discussed the possibility of a school trip to the Wellcome Collection. “You just want to show them the sex figurines!” Serena protested, finally giving up and picking up her food. Bernie didn’t deny it.

While they waited for their desserts – they hadn’t been able to choose, so had ended up plumping for a selection of tasters to share – Bernie poured them both some water, sloshing it into their tumblers along with several cubes of ice, and said: “So, tell me, how’s life?” She crunched on an ice cube as the smile vanished from Serena’s face; Serena cleared her throat. She knew what the question was really asking, and found herself once again plunged in to a battle between instinct and something kinder. The look that flashed across her features – for a moment revealing a sense of having been betrayed by this question, by her companion – should have been warning enough, but Bernie decided to press on.

“Would it really be so terrible to let someone in?” she asked. She reached towards Serena’s retreating hand, stopping halfway and settling instead for holding the stem of her glass. They both stared at the table.

\--

The quiet of the walk back to the hotel was nothing like the silence they had shared earlier in the park. Bernie fretted at the seams inside her pockets and wished she had known better than to push it, wished she hadn’t had to settle the bill with a waiter who couldn’t hide his curiosity while Serena waited outside, looking anywhere but into the restaurant. Serena wished that she had just opened up, had seen only the good in the question. It might have been the first time that anyone had asked her how she was with anything like serious interest or intent since… well, in a long time. As the flags of the hotel came in to view ahead of them, Serena put a hand to Bernie’s elbow and stopped. “Do you want to grab a coffee in the bar, before we head up?” she asked, willing Bernie to read the apology in her tone. Bernie paused a moment and smiled. “Sure.”

\--

“You know technically cappuccino is a breakfast coffee?” Serena smirked, as the waitress nudged the tray onto the table in front of them. Bernie picked up her mug and deliberately took a sip in a way that left a line of frothy milk across her top lip, pushing her chin in Serena’s direction in defiance before swiping the froth away with her tongue. Serena stirred two sugars into her Americano and sat back in the tub chair.

“Things haven’t been right with Edward for years,” she said, focusing on her cup before slowly lifting her eyes to assess Bernie’s reaction. Bernie blinked; she was listening, and she didn’t need to say anything.

“Eight years, to be exact.” Serena sighed. “Well, probably longer. No doubt, longer. But eight years at Christmas since I discovered he was having an affair with my best friend.” She cleared her throat again, glancing around the bar to try and fend off the tears that had sprung to her eyes. “At least I thought she was. We’d known each other since school.”

Bernie’s voice was almost impossibly quiet when it came. “That’s why you were at the park,” she said, not really asking.

“Actually no, Edward had been steaming drunk for close to 36 hours and I just wanted some fresh air,” Serena said, keeping Bernie’s eye. “But it is usually worse for both of us, at Christmas. Once Elinor leaves…”

Bernie drank some of her cappuccino, carefully this time, and shuffled closer in her seat to Serena. “Why… how come…” She looked up at Serena and smiled awkwardly, and Serena nodded; she knew how this sentence ended. “Do you mind me asking why you’re still together?” They continued to look at one another, silently negotiating over whether this was any of Bernie’s business or not. Serena stayed silent, for a time, her gaze moving towards the middle distance. Bernie supped her coffee again and waited, cued up another topic of conversation in case it became necessary.

“Sometimes I don’t know,” Serena said, her voice as weak as Bernie had ever heard it, barely escaping from her lips. “Sometimes I wonder how he’s still here and I don’t have a friend in the world.”

Bernie tilted her head; she wanted to say ‘you’ve got me’, but she knew she was a long way from replacing a childhood friend. She realised, too, that Serena’s reluctance to let her in, to let her be a friend, probably had very little to do with their almost comical incompatibility, and everything to do with the hurt she’d suffered eight years ago. Was still suffering. “You couldn’t be on your own?” she asked, all curiosity and no judgment. Serena sniffed.

“No,” she said, with a snap, and finished the end of her coffee. “So that’s that.”

Bernie felt as though Serena was already filling with regret as they made their way back to the fifth floor, was tensing. But when they reached their doors, she turned to Bernie and thanked her, for the day, for the conversation, for both, and opened her arms to offer a hug. Bernie stepped forward with a warm smile and hugged Serena tightly, trying to give all the comfort she knew Serena would never accept as words. _I will be such a good friend to you!_ her arms promised.

Serena closed her door and flicked on the lights; perched on the end of the bed and listened to the traffic still flowing outside. The smell of Bernie’s perfume lingered about her nose, and she closed her eyes to retreat back into the hug. She wished there wasn’t a corridor keeping them apart until tomorrow.

To be continued... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really honestly meant it when I said slow burn. Please don't hate me. They are getting there, believe me! It's just a... scenic route.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their second day in London.

Bernie woke with a start. Was that someone knocking on the door? She pushed up onto her elbows and looked around, realising that she had somehow ended up with her head at the foot of her bed and one foot perilously close to knocking the telephone off the bedside table on the opposite side. Was that what that noise had been? She shuffled back to the pillows and sat up, chuckling to herself as she switched on her phone. As six missed call notifications popped up on screen the sound came again: definitely a knock at the door. She looked at the time: 9.58am. Serena had been calling for the best part of an hour. She pushed her fringe out of her eyes and opened the door sheepishly. “I’m sorry,” she yawned, before looking up.

Serena was stood in the doorway toying with her necklace, her eyes widening at the sight of Bernie in a vest and shorts – at this Bernie looked down at herself and said “ah”, smiled, and wrapped the white robe hanging outside the bathroom around her.

“It’s fine,” Serena said, seeming embarrassed at the efforts she’d gone to, to rouse Bernie. “I was just… it’s, um… breakfast is only served until 11am, and I didn’t want us to miss it.”

“God, no!” Bernie exclaimed, sounding genuinely horrified at the prospect. “Wait here, I’ll just be a minute.” She stepped aside to let Serena into the room, then ducked inside the bathroom.

When she emerged, a towel wrapped around her middle and her hair sitting in damp curls that trailed water onto her neck, Serena leapt off the bed – now made, not that Bernie noticed – and searched the room for somewhere to look that did not include any of Bernie’s lightly tanned skin. Bernie stood over her suitcase and pulled underwear on before dropping her towel to pick out a top and some jeans; behind her, unseen and unheard, Serena choked in surprise and once again returned her stare to a snag in the curtains, her cheeks flaming red.

Bernie gave her hair a 10-second blast of the hairdryer, slipped on her shoes and turned to Serena. “Breakfast?” she grinned, grabbing her key card and making for the door. Serena stood up, running her hand over the back of her neck. “Ahem, ye-yes,” she replied.

-

“Good job you woke me when you did,” Bernie said over her shoulder, having spied the pastries and fruit toasts laid out in front of them. The waiter showed them to a table and took their coffee order; Bernie asked for a cooked breakfast, too. “Might as well get our money’s worth!” she grinned, conspiratorially. She still wasn’t sure how Serena felt about having opened up last night – wasn’t sure that Serena hadn’t succumbed to regret after all, once the doors were shut and the lights were off and she was left alone with her thoughts. So she had determined that today would be entirely upbeat, without even a whisper of a _how are you_ , and here she was rubbing her hands and unfolding her napkin for Serena’s amusement. “Might as well get our money’s worth!”

Serena smiled, by now almost completely unable to resist Bernie’s easy charm. At first it had infuriated her, then gradually she noticed pangs of jealousy – why couldn’t she be quite so relaxed outside of her comfort zone? Outside the grounds of St Winifred’s? Now she found herself simply an admirer of how much Bernie enjoyed life. She liked how it felt to be in Bernie’s company; to be seen in Bernie’s company. “Oh my god, you have to try this,” Bernie said, shoving a fork loaded with sausage and black pudding with some sort of handmade relish towards Serena. She liked it even if Bernie was a terrible gannet with the table manners of a toddler.

-

They decided they would leave their cases in the luggage room at the hotel and take a walk along Southbank, since the sun was out again. As they closed their bedroom doors to head down to the foyer, each felt a faint nudge of disappointment at having booked only one night when the bank holiday had offered two. Originally Serena had been hoping that Ellie might come round on Monday, but her daughter had messaged late on Thursday to say she’d be with friends somewhere in Yorkshire, and by then it was too late, and she was too embarrassed, to suggest they add a second night.

Bernie smiled warmly as she proffered her arm, and Serena took it. They found their stride again, weaving their way towards the river and crossing Waterloo Bridge, talking about everything and nothing in the unhurried manner that had come upon them in the park the day before. Bernie wondered at the contrast between this Serena, still with a hand on the inside of Bernie’s elbow, who smiled at almost everything that she said, who pointed out places of interest and obscure facts as they crossed London, and the Serena she had met in September, so riled and ready to snap. Wondered but didn’t dwell on it, choosing instead to enjoy sauntering along by the river, a stop for lunch, and the decision to stay for whatever afternoon performance they could find that didn’t sound like it would make their teeth itch too much. They may not have the extra night, but neither needed to be home before dark.

Eventually, after an... _entertaining_ production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream; after Bernie had lost not one but two £10 notes to a street artist (“no I’ve spotted the trick, Serena; I’ll get it this time”); after a dash up to the viewing level at the Tate Modern, from where you could see the crumbling tower block that had been Bernie’s university home; after a light dinner with crisp, cold white wine (“I do occasionally have something other than Shiraz, Bernie; don’t look at me like that”); they had finally been forced to concede that their time was up. “Shall we?” Bernie started, nodding across the river. “Yeah,” Serena said.

They took the Millennium Bridge this time. The sunset was creeping over London and powdered everything with gold as it went; Bernie hummed as she turned to look down the river towards Somerset House, strands of her hair lifting on the breeze and glinting in the twilight. Serena watched the light around her friend, half real and half a figment of her imagination, and was struck by the thought that it was always there; that there was a kind of force, a bubble around Bernie. That was the effect that Bernie had on people – the girls, the rest of the staff: things were that bit better when you stepped inside Bernie’s bubble, when you saw the world through the same shimmer that she did.

“Please don’t tell me I’ve _still_ got spinach in my teeth!” Bernie said, turning back and catching Serena staring at her. She dragged her tongue down her teeth a couple of times and then pulled her lips back to bare them. “Gone?” Serena hesitated for a moment before her panic subsided, and she looked carefully at Bernie’s mouth, despite knowing full well there was no greenery trapped between her teeth, smiled, and laughed. “Gone,” she said, tucking her hands into her pockets and looking the other way down the river, towards London Bridge, which was already clenched in the fist of the dusk. “All gone.”

-

The train was about five minutes from Holby when darts of rain began to appear on the windows, the water slowly gathering along the bottom and shimmering under the yellow station lights as they pulled up. Bernie grabbed the suitcases as Serena turned her collar up and grimaced. “Why don’t we get a cab?” Bernie suggested, pulling out her phone. “It’s hardly walking weather. It can drop me off on the way to yours – I’m closer.” Serena nodded her approval, her expression blank, the light having faded from her features the closer they’d got to home. Bernie had felt her slipping away again. This was a third Serena: not the agitated woman she’d met last year, not the Serena who’d giggled over tubs of ice cream during the interval hours earlier, but a facsimile, a hologram projected to hold her place while she wasn’t there.

With the engine idling, Bernie climbed out of the taxi and stood with her back to the open door. She went to wish Serena a pleasant Bank Holiday Monday but found her shuffling across the seats to follow her, holding on to Bernie’s case. “I’ll give you a hand to the door,” Serena said, not making eye contact. “Won’t be a minute,” she said to the driver.

Bernie dropped her head to one side and looked at Serena. “Now who’s being macho?” she joked, but her gaze worked away at Serena’s faux cheeriness. Once again the spectre of their Boxing Day meeting hung in the air, and Bernie heard again the words that had just barely escaped from Serena the day before: _he’s still here and I don’t have a friend in the world_. “Serena,” Bernie said, putting her hand on top of Serena’s, “if you don’t want to go home just yet, you’re more than welcome to come in for a coffee.” Serena smiled, at once thankful and apologetic. She stood while Bernie paid the driver, then followed her towards the front door.  


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments and words of encouragement, I really appreciate it. I hope this chapter lives up to your wishes...

“Serena!” Bernie let the door swing fully open, and hastily pulled the Post-It off her forehead.

“We heard that!” came the shout from the living room; a young man’s voice, and Serena looked guiltily down the hallway while Bernie turned the piece of paper over in her hand. “I could have sat there all year and I wouldn’t have guessed Kendall Jenner, Cameron!” she yelled back. She smiled and rolled her eyes, stepping aside to gesture Serena inside.

Serena hesitated, wiping her palms down the outside of her jeans. “No, you’ve got people here. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come, not unannounced.” Bernie realised for the first time that Serena wasn’t wearing any make up, that the back of her hair looked like it had been slept on.

“Serena?” They looked one another in the eye, Bernie almost on tiptoes with concern as Serena’s fingers tugged at the hem of her jacket. “Serena, come in, come on.” It wasn’t a request. Serena stepped over the threshold and allowed herself to be led towards the kitchen.

“Carry on without me for a second,” Bernie said, directing her voice into the living room.

Serena stood by the cooker, leaning her hands on the island unit between her and Bernie, who leaned back against the far counter. “What’s the matter? What’s happened?” Bernie tucked her hair behind her ears and looked anxiously at Serena, who in turn looked everywhere but at Bernie.

“Noth-” her voice cracked and she stopped to clear her throat. “Nothing happened. Not exactly.” She paused and Bernie knew better than to come crashing into the silence. Had learned not to. Eventually Serena breathed out, almost a laugh. Almost. “This is so embarrassing.

“I just couldn’t bear to be in the house anymore. I just…” Bernie stepped forward so that they were either side of the island; so that Serena could be sure she could speak without her voice carrying further than the kitchen. Still Serena hesitated.

“There’s a track about half a mile down the road that’ll take us straight into the woods,” Bernie said, running Serena some water and nudging it across the surface towards her. “Why don’t we go for a walk? Fresh air and all that? It’s not supposed to rain until later.” Serena shook her head, glassy eyed and refusing, still, to look at Bernie. “No, I should go.”

“No you bloody well shouldn’t,” Bernie said, “I won’t let you.” Finally Serena looked up, her features softening at Bernie’s smile. At the very edges of her consciousness she chastised herself for this neediness – for how much better a look from Bernie could make her feel. “If we’re not going for a walk you can help me thrash the kids at Scrabble. Got to win something today.” Serena took a few gulps of the water before dabbing the corners of her eyes with her fingertips. “OK?” Bernie asked. A nod. “Come on then.”

A game of Scrabble became best of three became best of five, but still the combined efforts of Bernie and Serena couldn’t overcome Cameron and Charlotte, who enjoyed their victories in the same utterly ungracious fashion that Bernie took defeat. “You’ve been hiding letters,” she huffed, ducking her head under the coffee table to look for evidence. By game four she’d insisted on Serena keeping the scores, rather than Cam, but the margin of victory only widened. “It’s a conspiracy,” Bernie moaned, folding her arms and pouting.

“Oh, without a doubt, Mum,” Charlotte grinned, tidying away the board. “Call the police the second we’re gone.” Bernie blew a raspberry and got up to see the kids off.

Serena was perched on the edge of the sofa when Bernie returned to the living room. “I should go too,” she said, quickly standing up.

“Should go, or want to go?” Bernie asked, crossing her arms again. There was a moment’s hesitation from Serena – barely even half a moment, but that was all the answer that Bernie needed. “Right. Put a CD on – or the telly, I think there’s a Poirot starting in about 10 minutes or so – and I’ll go and put some cheese and bits together.” She made to go to the kitchen.

“Bernie,” Serena said, quietly. When Bernie turned around Serena just looked at her, eyebrows lifted. A _thank you_ she was – what? Too embarrassed? – actually to utter. Bernie smiled, an unspoken _you’re welcome._ She winked as she left the room. “I’ll even crack open the port.”

They talked for hours, both opting to lean against the sofas from cushions on the floor, making it easier to tuck in to the cheeses Bernie had brought through on a board. Serena didn’t mention anything else about what had prompted her to turn up at the house earlier that day, and Bernie decided that Serena knew well enough by now that she could, if she wanted to. When the sun started to nuzzle the horizon, Serena made her first genuine attempt to leave. “I want to go while it’s still just about light,” she said, “I walked.”

Bernie knew the walk would take about 20 minutes, given the incline, but the drive would be almost nothing. “I’ll drive you, if you like,” she offered. “I only had a drop of port.” Serena started to shake her head. “We can leave it til a bit later, if that’s…” If getting home to Edward sooner rather than later is the issue, she thought.

“No, no. But thank you.” Serena picked up her jacket from the hooks in the hall and let herself out the front door, turning on the step to face Bernie, as she had done hours earlier. She looked at Bernie and again found herself wondering how to say everything that she was thinking, the thoughts and feelings jostling in an impatient queue that almost gave her a headache. The Germans probably had the perfect word for it, even if it was 11 other words smashed together. Her gaze darted from one side of Bernie’s face to the other, as if she might find a clue there, or, more likely, because she knew that Bernie could decipher this thing, this great, big, giant mass of stuff that threatened to overwhelm her before she herself could make any sense of it.

Bernie stepped forward and hugged Serena tightly, holding on until the Too Long point so that Serena knew this wasn’t just a hug but a reply, and then she stepped back and rubbed the tops of Serena’s arms, before finally taking her hands in her own. “You know you’re welcome here whenever you want,” she said; “you can call me whenever you want.”

-

On Wednesday a cloudy dawn turned in to the kind of sunny morning that makes the playing fields hum, a rich green, and even the older girls were spread out across the grass, giving piggy backs and turning cartwheels. Bernie surveyed the school grounds from beneath sunglasses, her shoulder blades resting against the brick wall of the language centre.

“Miss Wolfe? Bernie?”

“Hmmm?” The voice had come from her left; she turned to find Amy Nicholls looking shyly at her, Melissa Bryan just behind her, staring at her feet.

“Blimey, a delegation: must be serious. What’s the problem, girls?” Bernie pushed off the wall and turned to face them fully, putting her sunglasses on the top of her head.

“Are you…” Amy looked at Melissa. Melissa continued to peruse the tarmac.

“Am I…?” Bernie looked from one to the other.

“You and Dr Campbell… are you, like, dating or something?”

Bernie laughed. And laughed. The girls glanced at one another uncertainly. _Do we smile?_

“No, no, Dr Campbell and I are not dating or something,” she said, hooking her thumbs into her belt loops and rocking back on her heels. “What on earth makes you think that?”

Melissa found her voice first. “Suzi Geoffreys lives near you,” she said, finally looking up. The creases disappeared from Bernie’s face as she realised what was coming. “She saw you both at your house, late at night. And the next day. She-”

“She what?” Bernie asked, trying to look far less amused than she actually was.

“She said you were holding hands.”

Bernie grinned - she wanted to laugh again. “Serena – Dr Campbell,” she corrected herself, “is my friend. So yes, she was at my house. A couple of times, over the bank holiday. But dating? Come on. Do I look like Dr Campbell’s type?”

Both girls went wide-eyed. “Er…” “No- not…”

“And what makes you think she’s mine, for that matter?” Bernie asked, the pitch of her voice rising as she mocked them, taking them by the shoulders and turning them towards the west entrance. “Come on, break’s almost over.”  

-

Bernie heard footsteps in the corridor – the slow, shuffling footsteps of a pupil out of class when she shouldn’t be, trying not to attract attention – and sighed. Normally she would give anything to have administrative duties interrupted, but this _particular_ pile of paperwork was _particularly_ overdue, and if she didn’t get it done by home time, then it was home time that would have to give. She blew her fringe out of her eyes and then jumped an inch off her chair at the shout from the corridor.

“SARAH MCDONALD YOU HAD BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR BEING OUT OF CLASS.”

Serena. There was no mistaking that brittle timbre. Bernie stood up, but paused at the next shout.

“WELL?” A split second. “For god’s sake girl don’t just stand there gawping at me like a fish, what are you doing? Have you got a slip?”

“Sere- Dr Campbell, is this really necessary?” Serena’s head snapped towards Bernie stood in her doorway; she could practically feel, on her skin, on the tiniest hairs on her ears, Serena’s anger.

“Sarah where are you meant to be right now?” Bernie asked quietly. Sarah, tearful, gulped. “Maths.” Her answer was a whisper, and she steered her gaze away from Serena as if she were Medusa.

“Go on then,” Bernie said, nodding towards the maths rooms before all but pulling Serena into her office, closing the door behind them. “What on earth’s the matter?” she asked. “Serena, whatever’s going on at home you can’t – whoa whoa whoa…” Serena was sobbing now, and Bernie rushed closer, tried to put her arms around her; Serena fought her off, practically punching Bernie’s upper arms. Bernie backed off and simply looked at Serena, even though waiting always felt like the worst kind of doing nothing.

“Oh god, you haven’t heard, have you?” Serena asked, struggling to catch her breath.

“Heard what?” Bernie couldn’t keep the bewilderment from her voice. Serena looked up at her, bottom lip still quivering, her eyes searching Bernie’s face as they had done a couple of days earlier.

“Serena, this isn’t about Suzi Geoffrey, is it? Please tell me that ridiculous rumour isn’t what’s put you in this state?”

Serena ran her hands through her hair and heaved out a breath. “Aren’t you mortified?” Bernie pulled her head back, raised her eyebrows; it had never occurred to her to be anything, really, other than amused, but certainly she wasn’t mortified. “I’m so sorry Bernie, I didn’t mean for this, I didn’t mean…” She stopped at the feeling of Bernie’s arms closing around her shoulders, at the feeling of Bernie’s shirt against her cheek as she pressed her face into Bernie’s neck, as Bernie shushed her.

“Serena, come on, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. I’m not offended, I’m not upset.” She pulled away so that she could look at Serena. “We know what really happened, don’t we?”

-

Bernie kicked her shoes off and flicked the lights on, dumping her case at the bottom of the stairs; Serena followed suit. “Drink?”

 _Drink,_ Serena had scoffed to herself the next morning, rousing herself through the fug of a hangover. A brandy hangover at that. And then port the next day! “How do you do it?” she had asked Bernie, who had somehow been for a run on waking, rather than nodding off over a cup of coffee. Bernie had smirked, that quirk of the lips that had so grated on Serena’s mood in the past. 

“OTC.” Serena looked nonplussed. “You mean you didn’t have friends at university who were part of the officers’ training corps?” Bernie chomped on a grape. “Oh Dr Campbell I _am_ disappointed in you. It was where you found all the best people.”

On Sunday night, though, she had been more careful not to poke fun, slightly more sensitive to the vulnerability of Serena’s mood, and her desire to be in Bernie’s house, knocking back brandy in the small hours of the morning. When neither of them could keep their eyes open any longer, Serena had even agreed to stay the night rather than stumbling home, had got as far as the spare room – Bernie had turned the covers back and pulled the curtains before Serena had changed her mind, had tripped unsteadily down the stairs and left with a quick hug and an awkward smile. An awkward hug and a quick smile, a smile that vanished in an instant.

-

Bernie tried to read Serena’s face. “It’s just a silly rumour, Serena; they’ll be talking about something else, someone else, this time next week – if they’re not already.” Somehow the words seemed to bounce back off Serena, clunking loudly on the floor between them. “We know there’s nothing to it, don’t we?” Bernie pulled her in for another hug, rubbing her back, humming _okay_ s and _alright_ s.

Serena dug her chin in to Bernie’s shoulder, shrunk in to her friend’s embrace, but somehow it hurt, it ached, to try and take comfort in the notion that there was nothing between them. Did Bernie really feel _nothing_? How else could she shrug the gossip off so easily? The question had strummed every nerve in Serena’s body – she’d felt raw and exposed as it barged its way through her synapses; she’d struggled to contain it all, let alone respond. And now here Bernie was, laughing, telling her to relax, saying that it was all nonsense.

Bernie felt her stiffen up before she withdrew, eyeing the floor, tracking the pattern on the cheap rug rather than meeting Bernie’s gaze. “Serena?”

“You’re right, of course you’re right.” She cleared her throat and smiled at Bernie, making for the door. “See you tomorrow."

Bernie frowned. That was the worst impression of a smile she’d ever seen Serena give, and she had a few examples to choose from. It wasn’t just that there was no real light in her eyes, it was that the absence of light was so vivid. Why had this hit Serena so hard? What did it matter? It’s not as if they were. She puffed out her cheeks and sank into her chair.    


	11. Chapter 11

> There’s a café called Pulses just inside the entrance to the Wyvern Wing. Text me when you get here and I’ll come and down and meet you.

Bernie pulled into the overflow car park and locked up.

> I’m here x

 

When she walked in through the automatic doors, it didn’t take Bernie long to pick out Serena, despite the Saturday night crowds. She smiled as she walked over and Serena valiantly attempted to do the same, but her mouth faltered halfway there and a tear streaked down her cheek before she could stop it; Bernie was there in an instant, arms tight around Serena’s shoulders as she sobbed into Bernie’s jacket. Bernie steered them back towards a table and sat Serena down, crouching in front of her so she could make eye contact. Ordinarily she might have worried that this felt a bit too much like those times when an inconsolable pupil needed a gentle nudge out of themselves, but it was 9.30pm on a Saturday, and they were in Holby City hospital, of all places, and Serena had called her in tears after having avoided her since Wednesday.

“It’s Edward.”

“What’s he done?” Bernie asked without hesitation. Her voice was low and her fists clenched at her sides as she looked Serena over.

“Nothing,” Serena reassured her. “Not to me, anyway.” Bernie’s shoulders relaxed. “I came home and found him unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. There was blood… he must have fallen. He…” She tailed off and looked at Bernie, a silent plea to her friend to fill in the rest.

“He was drunk as a bastard bloody skunk.” This time Serena’s lips did twitch in to a smile, if only momentarily. “So where is he? What’s the damage?” _Not enough, I’ll wager_ , Bernie thought.

“I don’t know,” Serena shook her head. She looked weary. Bernie fought the urge to walk her out of the hospital right this second. “They took him to the, uh, the Acute Admissions Unit?” Serena looked to see if this sounded right to Bernie, who nodded as she began to scan the walls for signs and spotted the lifts.

She patted Serena’s knee. “You stay here and I’ll go and ask for an update – assuming you want one, that is?” She cocked her head to the side. “We could always take this opportunity to chop all his clothes up and burn them on the front lawn, if you’d like.” She winked, and rubbed the top of Serena’s knee again.

Inside Serena, guilt and desire rolled up their sleeves and prepared to spar once again. “Best not, “ she whispered, wiping tears that were already half dry off her cheeks. “Tempting though.”

Bernie was gone for about 20 minutes, in which time Serena bought a hot chocolate (with whipped cream, because why not) and stared at the table top, tracing the grain with her fingertip. She realised she felt less anxious now that Bernie was here, and then felt a renewed anxiety at that. She checked again for a response from Elinor, but knew that it would probably be tomorrow afternoon before her daughter got around to listening to her message, by which time Edward would probably be back at home in any case. The thought stung at Serena’s eyes and she pressed her lips together to try to suppress the urge to cry. She blinked rapidly when she saw Bernie picking her way through the foyer towards her.

“Right,” Bernie breathed as she sat down, placing a hand on top of Serena’s, which was clenched on the table in front of her. They looked at one another, and Serena nodded. “He’s having a big gash on his head seen to at the moment – seems he caught the corner of the bannister on his way to the bottom.” Serena looked at her, searching for details. “Don’t worry, it can’t be that serious; I didn’t spot any grey matter.” They shared a guilty chuckle. Bernie knew she was walking a tightrope by being so blunt in her appraisal of Edward, but she had not seen or heard anything to suggest she was wrong. Tonight Edward would be patched up and given medication to take the pain away; no such luck for Serena.

“The bigger problem is that they think he’s chipped a bone in his elbow,” she went on, “but it’s too swollen and he’s too blotto for them to investigate it properly tonight. And the chances are he’ll need an operation, so he could be here until early next week.” Bernie paused, trying to read Serena’s reaction. “Are you… OK?”

Serena had been looking at her lap as Bernie spoke, and she took a moment before responding. When she did, she frowned and looked straight at Bernie, questioning and fearful. “Is it terrible that I’d be glad of him spending a couple of nights here?” she asked. Bernie smiled and shook her head; stilled Serena’s fretting hands with her own.

She ducked her head forward and said in a stage whisper: “Is it terrible that I’m disappointed he wasn’t a bit more badly bashed up?” She squeezed Serena’s hands now, starting to stand up. “Mind you, he’s going to have a rotten headache in the morning. Come on, let’s go.”

 

Serena paused as they made their way down the ambulance ramp, stepping aside to let a tall, thin man in a suit past while she waited for Bernie to stop. He smiled at her quizzically and nodded, then went on his way.

“What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t come in my car – I couldn’t move him. I had to call an ambulance.”

“Well I figured that, Serena.” Bernie grinned – she could never help it when she was about to wind Serena up, even when there was a risk that the joke would land badly. “I was going to drive you to pick up some of your things, and then I thought you could come and stay with me for a night or two. 

“There’s a wig and a trenchcoat in the boot, if you’re worried about Suzi Geoffrey.”

Serena was tired. She leaned on the blue railing and closed her eyes, enjoying the cool evening breeze on her hot and headachey brow. “I don’t care about Suzi sodding Geoffrey,” she whispered, holding out a hand so that Bernie could pull her closer and lead her to the car.

-

Bernie carried Serena’s bag to the spare room herself, turned on the lamp and pointed the way to the bathroom. She wasn’t letting Serena trudge off home tonight. “Do you want a cuppa?” she asked, making to go back downstairs. “Or something stronger?”

Serena smiled. “You never know if the hospital might call,” she said; “might not look so good if I’m squiffy too. But I’d love a coffee, if you’re making one.”

Bernie strode across the landing. “I think a cafetière is in order.”

-

The caffeine seemed to rally Serena; after an hour or so of setting out Edward’s most recent faults and indiscretions (there were many, but she had rehearsed this list in her head enough times to be able to keep it to under two hours – under one, probably, if hadn’t been for Bernie’s livid and increasingly violent interjections. Serena didn’t know whether to be concerned or touched by Bernie’s promise to break every finger on Edward’s hands in at least one place if he ever made Serena cry again), she found herself thinking about a future that might not have Edward in it.

“I know you don’t want to be alone, Serena, and I get it, I really do.” They were on the sofa, Serena leaning back against Bernie’s side, occasionally dropping her head onto Bernie’s shoulder – usually when a question made her pause to think, and she didn’t have the energy to do that _and_ hold her head up. It had gone dark and was getting light again. “I don’t know how long it would have taken me to change things had I not met Alex – the one I told you about?”

“Language classes?” Serena asked, as if she didn’t know exactly who Alex was.

“Ah, yes,” Bernie chuckled. “But Marcus never made me scared to be in my own home – never upset me by doing anything worse than loving me more than I could love him.” She paused, as if this might be the first time she’d thought of it that way. “You can’t go on like this, Serena; it’s not right.” Bernie hummed in Serena’s ear, trying to extract an agreement. Serena only mmmed, noncommittally. Bernie decided to go on.

“Every time I see you I think things must be getting better, or at least not worse, because you seem happy. Happier, at any rate. Even… forgive me for saying it, but a bit more alive than you did when we fell out in the autumn term. And then he has a few too many, a few too many nights in a row, and it’s you he’s really broken. It isn’t fair, Serena. I don’t want that for you.”

Serena put her mug down on the coffee table and span around, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, facing Bernie. “What do you want for me?” she asked, looking up shyly.

Bernie dropped her head back onto the cushions and looked at the ceiling – damn it, missed a cobweb – as she pondered her answer. She sighed. “I want you to tell Edward to sling his hook,” she started. “And take anything that makes you think of him, of being married to him, of being bulled by him” – she gritted her teeth – “to the tip.” Serena thought about it, couldn’t disagree.

“I want you to spend the summer” – the end of term wasn’t too far off now – “enjoying being you again. Do something you’ve always wanted to do, even if it makes you feel daft. Let’s drink wine together in the evenings; the builders have almost finished the deck at the bottom of the garden and it’ll be in a glorious patch of sun right up until dusk. Let’s take a trip!” she added, warming to her theme. Serena rested her chin on her hands, still cross-legged, and smiled broadly.

“And…” Bernie said, eyeing the ceiling once again, “when you’re ready, I want you to find someone – if that’s what you want.” A look flashed across Serena’s face. _It’s what I want. I know it’s what I want. But I don’t need to go looking._ “A nice man, a decent man, one who’ll appreciate that he’s lucky enough to be with Serena Campbell, _Doctor_ Serena Campbell, and that he should be glad of that every day for as long as that’s true – forever, if he has any sense.” She slapped her hand down gently onto Serena’s knee, and left it there.

 

The room was silent for the first time in hours. It was 4am and they noticed for the first time the milky grey light of the early hours. Serena closed her eyes. “Bernie, do you consider yourself to be an intelligent woman?”

Bernie turned around to her in surprise, her mouth working but no sound coming out. “Well, I haven’t done a PhD like some people,” she said, clearing her throat theatrically for emphasis, “but I like to think I have my wits about me. Ah! Scrabble with the kids doesn’t count. Dreadful cheats; they clearly weren’t raised right.” She frowned at Serena, who was frowning at her.

“Then why can’t you feel it?” Serena asked, hesitating for just a second before taking Bernie’s hand, squeezing it ever so slightly. “What’s missing? Why am I like a lovesick teenager over you and you’re… you’re… the best friend I don’t deserve?” 

A milk float buzzed up the road and they both turned towards the sound before looking back at each other. Serena’s eyebrows were knitted, sad and questioning. She knew this might be the last proper conversation she had with Bernie, but she no longer had room to hold in all the things she hadn’t said, all the things she had hoped that Bernie might hear anyway.

“I didn’t realise,” Bernie said quietly. Serena gulped and nodded her head. Closed her eyes against tears for the – well, she’d lost count of how many times today. “What I mean is, well, I thought you hated me. Before. At the start. You probably did, a bit. A lot maybe. And I just thought I wanted the challenge of making you like me. Or at least speak to me. But actually I think I needed you to like me, because how else could we spend time together?

“But I never dared dream…”

Actually, she had dared to dream, especially when Serena was being so haughty with her. Had dreamed quite a few times of taming the Head of Science – just a tad, anyway. But she had never dared hope; that was different. Daydreams were harmless, but hope led to hurt. And the more she had gotten to know Serena, the more Serena had allowed Bernie in, the more Bernie had recognised, or so she thought, that it was a friend that Serena needed. A confidant. Someone she could lean on, and who wouldn’t need something back, who wouldn’t take from Serena when she was working so hard just to keep herself moving forward from day to day. And Bernie liked being Serena’s friend, had thrown herself into it with such gusto that she had stopped seeing the little signs, had stopped looking for them, hadn’t even thought about the possibility that Serena might fall for her.

“Shit. Shit. Shit, Serena, I’m sorry, I’m…” Bernie stood up. “How long has this...? Why didn’t you say something? That’s why the stuff at school bothered you so much? But why didn’t you tell me?” She was pacing back and forth in front of the sofa that Serena was still sat on, arms everywhere all at once, dissecting the air with her outstretched hands.

“Bernie,” Serena interrupted. “Sit down.” Bernie sat.

“I’ve never been more than friends with a woman before and this, what I’ve been feeling, what I’ve been thinking, it’s terrifying.” Bernie looked guilt-stricken, looked like she might just up and start work on a time machine to undo all of this, make it her life’s work, if it would spare Serena this. “Good terrifying, but terrifying all the same. I didn’t know what to do, how to get you to see. I just kept hoping you’d stomp into my office one day and kiss me, in front of the governors or not.” They both smiled at the memory, and breathed out. The tension dissipated just a little. Bernie’s eyes flickered down to Serena’s lips. Serena saw this and had to remind herself to breathe; every muscle in her body was taut. Bernie’s lips parted.

“Wait, ‘stomp’?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm the worst! Thanks again for all the comments and feedback, I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed this penultimate chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where we leave Bernie and Serena for now... but there is an E/M rated epilogue in the works...  
> Thanks, a thousand thanks, to my beloved beta, @christmascactus

Serena woke up to the sound of breakfast being made in the kitchen – at least, she hoped that’s what it was. There were definitely pots and pans involved, and something was under the grill. Every so often she could hear Bernie - “ouch!” “oh, Christ” “aha!” – and she smiled girlishly each time, nuzzling in to the blanket that Bernie had put around her at some point as she had slept. Her back ached, and she could feel pins and needles starting in one leg. The seam of a cushion had imprinted itself down her cheek. She was far too old to be sleeping on sofas, she knew, but she remembered falling asleep with her head on Bernie’s shoulder, with Bernie’s arms around her, with Bernie’s soft breaths in her hair, and didn’t feel so bad.   

“My my, a cooked breakfast,” she said, walking into the kitchen. “What happens when we make it past first base?”

Bernie met Serena’s arched eyebrow with a chuckle. “Morning sleepy head. Make yourself useful and put some cutlery on the table, could you?” She nodded towards the drawer holding knives and forks. “And there’s ketchup in the fridge if you want some. Take a seat, it’s nearly ready.”

It was just after midday when they sat down to eat. Bernie had been awake for a couple of hours, unable to ignore the press of Serena’s jaw against her collarbone, her elbow against her hip, any longer. Not wanting to wake Serena, she hadn’t moved a muscle; just laid there and breathed Serena in, feeling Serena’s heart beat drowsily against her ribs. She thought back to the first time that Alex had kissed her – remembered how tentative Alex had been, how Alex had held her gently, delicately, as if she was worried Bernie might break under her hands, and yet Bernie had felt completely cocooned, enveloped, safe; had been completely immersed in their feelings for one another – and wondered if that was what it had been like for Serena, a few hours ago.

Perhaps not. This kiss had felt more urgent to Bernie, a response to need as much as to desire, and she had held Serena tight, had pressed her hands into her skin, for fear that she was already broken in to pieces that might not come back together. Serena had looked terrified that Bernie might take her to bed and terrified that she might not, so Bernie had pulled her closer, leaning back against the cushions, and let her fingers twirl in Serena’s hair; it hadn’t been long before she felt Serena drift off to sleep, and she followed, with her lips pressed to the top of Serena’s head. Feeling their bodies together in the morning, she hoped Serena felt safe, and loved, because despite the fact that she hadn’t realised it herself before, both of those things were true. They had been for a while. Eventually she had eased out from beneath Serena, wrapped her in a blanket, and padded out of the room to look for the makings of a decent breakfast.

“I suppose I’d better head back to the hospital after this,” Serena said, spreading her toast thickly with butter. Real butter. The hospital containing her idiot husband was the last place she wanted to be, but she doubted that any of Felicity, or Pippa, or Liberty, or whoever it was this week, would fancy taking her place.

Bernie nodded. “I’ll drive you,” she said, drinking some orange juice before looking at Serena through her fringe. “Do you want me to come in with you?”

“I should probably go in on my own,” Serena said, reaching for Bernie’s hand, which met hers in the middle of the table. “But thank you.”

They carried on eating, each using a fork to scoop up their food and thus avoiding any need to withdraw their other hand. Bernie badly wanted to ask Serena what she might say to Edward, whether she would be coming back here afterwards, whether there was an afterwards. She couldn’t bear, though, to push Serena in to conversations that she didn’t want to have, or decisions that she wasn’t ready to make, so she ate baked beans and squeezed Serena’s hand and smiled that smile that seemed to ask for permission before it would truly break across her face.

-

Bernie tried not to pull the door open fast enough to give away the fact that she’d been pacing up and down her hallway for the better part of the afternoon, taking brief detours to see to odd jobs around the house in order to convince herself that she wasn’t actually wasting the day waiting to see if Serena was coming back. It was early evening and the front garden was all shade as Serena stood on the doorstep. “It’s done,” she said, swaying slightly with exhaustion. “It’s over. I hope it’s OK that I came here rather than going ho-”

You can’t finish your sentence when you get pulled into one of Bernie Wolfe’s hugs.

-

They sat and had tea and toast while Serena relayed to Bernie her conversation with Edward. Even under sedation he had reacted angrily, toppling the drip stand as he lunged off the bed, only to scoff at Serena when she leapt backwards. Fine, he had said, he would recover at his sister’s, and fine, if she wanted to change the locks she could do as she liked, because they both knew that it wouldn’t be more than a week before she let him back in, and gave him a new key. “We both know you’re not strong enough for this, Serena.” Bernie grimaced on hearing his words in Serena’s strained voice. No apologies, no promises, no begging for another chance, no declarations of love. Just mockery.

She took her hand off Serena’s knee and lifted her arm for Serena to move over and lean in to a hug. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You know you are strong enough, don’t you? Even if you don’t feel it. You’ve got this, Serena” – she hesitated, uncertain all of a sudden, trying to feel for changes to Serena’s expression where her face lay against Bernie’s chest. “And you’re not alone.” Serena turned harder in to Bernie, gripped her shoulder and nodded, face still buried in Bernie’s shirt.

They slept in Bernie’s bed that night, Serena curled in to her despite the warm weather. Again Bernie was the first to wake, but this time she nudged Serena from slumber with a warm mug of coffee. There was a moment in which they both hesitated and looked at one another uncertainly; they had yet to put a name to this, didn’t feel it was so important to put a name to it, but knew that today, Monday morning, every morning from now on, would intrude upon it. “I’d like to take you on a date,” Bernie said, smiling in to her own coffee.

“There a play you’d like to see?” Serena joked, her sarcasm instantly undercut by the warmth in her eyes. Bernie chuckled. 

“I know everything’s a bit…” she trailed off. _Everything’s messy and Edward’s still in your head, if not your heart, and you’re here because you don’t want to be at home and none of these things is the perfect start to anything._ “I realise it’s…” _Too soon? Is it?_ She sighed. “I want to do things properly,” she said, eventually. “If you want to, if you can see it being something you’d like to, I mean, when you’re ready, when we’re both ready-”

“Bernie?”

“Hmm?”

“Thursday?”

-

Serena had spent the evenings that week decluttering – de-Edwarding – the house, which not only had a new lock but a new front door, in the pillar box red that she’d wanted rather than the dark stained wood that Edward had insisted on. The process had been cathartic, accompanied by her mother’s classical records, but sad nonetheless. The house was full of memories that were not only hers but also Elinor’s; they could be sorted into boxes but not simply discarded, even if Ellie had affected indifference to the news of their separation and gone back to university after a brief trip to the hospital. Arriving home on Thursday afternoon, Serena allowed herself to focus only on the evening ahead. Not that she knew much about it.

 

> Where and when are we meeting? You’ll have to tell me eventually… Sx

 

> I’ll pick you up at 8pm. Hope you don’t mind staying out late on a school night! Bx

 

She couldn’t decide if Bernie’s insistence on mystery was infuriating or romantic. Perhaps a bit of both. Bernie would know Serena disliked having no idea what was going on, but she was so keen to be the perfect suitor that Serena couldn’t help but melt a little more. It was a long time since she had been courted this way. Bernie arrived bang on time, saying nothing on the doorstep, only offering her arm for Serena to take before opening the car door for her. “You look beautiful,” she whispered as Serena slid into the passenger seat.

The car park was deserted, and they were surrounded only by greenery and the accompanying chirruping as they made their way to the picnic bench that Bernie had pointed out. “Sit down,” she said, laying out the food she had packed – mostly from Marks & Spencer, rather than homemade, but Serena didn’t mind – before pulling a small bottle of wine and two plastic cups from her bag. “I know what you’re thinking,” she smiled as Serena lifted an eyebrow, “but trust me, I think you’re going to like it.”

“A picnic I can handle,” Serena replied, skewering an olive. “But if any other cars pull up and start flashing their headlights, I’m off.”

Bernie shook her head, chuckling. “Scout’s honour.”

There was no sign of anyone else as the evening grew darker, and even the rustling and hubbub from the undergrowth seemed to hush as they talked and ate, the looks they shared doing as much to drown it all out as their laughter. Once again Serena felt as if she had stepped into that bubble, that she, that _they_ were not quite in step with the rest of the universe, instead operating outside of its laws. As darkness snuck up behind them, though, throwing its cloak over the table so that they could each only just make out the other, Serena sighed. “I think we’d better head back, Bernie. Unless you’ve got a lamp in that hamper.”

“Better than that,” Bernie answered in a teasing tone. She scooped up the leftovers and chucked the dregs of her wine out over the grass (fortunately she couldn’t see Serena’s reaction to that). Catering in one hand, she took Serena’s in the other. “Come with me.”

On the other side of the trees a building that Serena recognised appeared. “That’s…”

“Failand Observatory.”

“What are we doing here? It won’t be open tonight.”

“Well, not to anyone else, at any rate.”

When they got to the door it was open, a man with a walking cane pacing just inside. Bernie glanced at her watch. “Sorry Ted, little bit later than planned, thanks for waiting.” He harrumphed in response, nodding at Serena before handing Bernie a set of keys. “I’ll drop them off first thing, I promise. Give Angela my love.” With another nod of the head he was gone, closing the door behind him.

“What on earth?” Serena looked wide-eyed at Bernie, who was already busy twiddling a dial on one of the pieces of equipment that Ted had apparently set up. 

“Sssh! Come here!” The excitement in Bernie’s voice extinguished the tiny flash of irritation that had sparked momentarily in Serena, and she stepped towards Bernie and leant down as told. Looking through the eyepiece she couldn’t contain a squeak of delight at the view of the night sky far, far above them. She stayed like that for several minutes, just taking it all in.

“You set this up especially for me?” she said, eventually, stepping back and looking at Bernie, who was stood with her hands in her pockets, head back and mouth open as she gawped at those stars that were visible through the high windows.

“For us,” Bernie replied. “Like it?”

“Like it? Bernie… no one’s ever…” They shared a moment’s silence. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”


	13. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE the epilogue sees a jump in rating, which is why it's posted only as a link. Do not read this if you're under 18, or prefer not to see these two in smutty situations.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11074635


End file.
